


whales in the sea, god's voice obeys

by whalersandsailors



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Hints of the Outsider, Whales, Whaling ships, Young Samuel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 22:53:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4280997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalersandsailors/pseuds/whalersandsailors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Samuel’s father wants him to be an Overseer, but Samuel finds his faith elsewhere. Everything on land is a cage, and the ocean is freedom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	whales in the sea, god's voice obeys

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 31 Days of Fugue Feast, Day 1, Prompt: Gristol
> 
> I love imagining a young'un Samuel. 
> 
> Title is borrowed from Moby Dick.

His father wants him to be an Overseer, but Samuel finds his faith elsewhere. Samuel is but a boy with cheeks still graced with the plumpness and blemishes of youth when he takes to the sea, chasing the dream of many village boys in Gristol. He leaves in a moment of anger and helplessness. Everything on land is a cage, and the ocean is freedom. The ocean is the heart of the world, and Samuel wants nothing more than to fling himself into her graces. 

Life at sea is rough, but the hard work and long days help ease the pain of separation. His parents slowly fade from memory, then his brother, even the redheaded beauty with eyes like an owl who had so bewitched him. His life overflows with new people and bustling ports, with crotchety old men and sailors telling tales of faint singing they would hear on the wind, the flat doldrums where men lost their minds to the ocean, and the mile long shadows of creatures in the deep. All tales. Sailing comes with an abundance of them. 

Nighttime is what Samuel cherishes most on the open seas, when the entire world is swallowed by black with only the twinkling stars to guide a lonesome sailor. The sea herself throbs with life, a spirit that Samuel had not appreciated on land. With every wave of water, Samuel feels the sea’s pulse, her quiet heartbeat thrumming against the metal and wood of the ship. Tonight, Samuel is perched on the railing of the ship; his foot tucks under a metal notch to help him keep balance. Most of his shipmates are retired in the boat’s belly, and their voices are a faint murmur covered by the water’s gentle lapping. 

Samuel closes his eyes and breathes in the salt air. Wind catches his hair and billows through his lose shirt, and for a brief moment, his stomach clenches with the sensation of falling. He grins to himself and, without opening his eyes, pulls himself farther over the edge. He hears it from time to time. The music. Sometimes voices. Only during the silence of night may the ocean fill sound’s gap with her words and song. Some nights, Samuel swears that he can hear distant gulls and even people laughing and singing on land. The ocean gives Gristol her life and, in turn, she accepts the people of the land with their odd ships and silly superstitions. At night, Samuel knows he understands all this even if the others would mock him for such childishness. 

Something grinds against the bottom of the boat. Samuel opens his eyes. It is such a fleeting sensation that he wonders if he imagined it. He looks about him, but there are few other soldiers on board, most sleeping or paying Samuel no mind. Samuel feels another bump, this one closer. He looks down in time to see a mass sink back into the water, barely visible in the pale light of the stars and thin moon. Samuel blinks, hardly worried but curious what it might be. He leans more over the railing, hoping to catch another glimpse. 

The boat rocks with another sudden crash, and Samuel lurches over the edge, plummeting to the water below. Time slows. The boat did not move because of the water; this much Samuel can guess. A cry catches in his throat. He wonders if he’s going to die.

The water is icy. His collision with the water knocks the wind out of him, and with his torso clutching for air, his arms do little to keep him from sinking. Samuel’s senses are stripped. He can feel nothing, hear nothing, see nothing. His heart hammers in his chest. His lungs constrict, but when he gulps for air, there is only sea. His legs kick. His arms thrash. He knows he is going to die.

He hears music. A quiet voice, like a lullaby. Samuel stops moving. He listens.

The voice grows louder, but he cannot understand the words. Some of the song doesn’t sound like words, let alone human. A thrill rushes through his spine. He still cannot breathe, but his lungs have stopped begging for air. His back bumps onto something solid. He feels he is moving though he cannot be sure. The thing beneath him shifts. He runs his hands along the ground, but where he expected sand, he feels smooth, cold skin. The music is everywhere but nowhere all at once. Samuel’s world becomes nothing but the black, the cold, the music. He wonders if this is how death feels. He is not saddened by the idea.

A voice whispers in his ear, like a soothing caress, “Now is not your time. Sleep and live.”

Samuel closes his eyes.

*

When he finally opens them, the salt stings, and he immediately squints. There is a light above him. It is growing larger and brighter. He tries to move, but his limbs feel heavy, weighted down in the water. The darkness is pierced by the light, and Samuel can finally see that he is nearing the water’s surface. He sees sunlight, and something like relief fills him. 

A harpoon breaks the surface and speeds past Samuel. His calm is shattered. His limbs thrash as he pulls himself up. His lungs are burning again. He hears the bellow of whales as another harpoon barely misses him. A mournful cry beneath him promises Samuel that the harpoon hit its mark. Samuel nearly feels guilty, but the feeling is brief as he bursts into the air. Sunlight blinds him, and he gags the seawater until he can gasp in fresh air. He frantically searches for the nearby ship, and relieved, he recognizes it as his own. 

He waves his arms with a renewed energy, treading water haphazardly. “Help! Man overboard!” he screams, voice hoarse from the water.

The sailors onboard are preoccupied with dragging the whale onto deck, but one lone boy sees him and yells to the others. Samuel swims as close as he can, but adrenaline saps his muscles. A life ring is tossed to him, and he gratefully holds on as he is pulled onto the ship much as the whale was. Men crowd around Samuel, eyes wide and faces pale. Only a couple are smiling at him. Samuel hears one of them mutter “by the outsider” to himself. 

“How are you not dead?” one of them finally asks him—a friend, freckled, blond hair. Samuel thinks his name is Simon, but he can’t remember. “You’ve been missing for days. Only the first saw you go overboard. We all thought you were gone.”

Samuel shakes his head, not knowing what to tell them. He remembers very little. The men, uninterested if there was not an exciting story to be had, returned to the whale. Simon helped Samuel to his feet. The groans from the whale reach Samuel’s ears, but he tries to focus on Simon. 

“Here, let’s get you a onceover in the infirmary,” Simon suggests, slinging Samuel’s arm over his shoulders and leading him under the deck. “You hungry?”

Samuel grunts in response, his head still swirling over everything. How could he have been gone for days? He remembers being underwater for mere minutes. It doesn’t make sense. Samuel stomach roils. When they reach the tiny closet of an infirmary, Simon helps Samuel into a chair and starts rummaging through a cabinet. There is a tiny window where Samuel can see water splashing against the thick glass. He remembers the whale. Samuel assumes she must have carried him. A wool blanket is dropped onto Samuel’s shoulders, and Simon presents him with a tonic.

“Drink up,” he says. “It’ll keep you from puking later.”

Samuel accepts the bottle, and Simon leaves him in the closet with a promise to return with hard tack and fresh water. Samuel nods blearily and doesn’t watch him go. The medicine tastes atrocious, and despite its promise to keep him from heaving, Samuel has to force its contents down. His head is aching, and he rubs it futilely. 

“Samuel?” 

He jerks a little and looks up. Simon isn’t at the door. No one is. Samuel blinks, feeling unsettled. He remembers that voice, but he cannot remember why. But he feels whole, as though something has fallen into place in his life, some undetermined purpose. Nearly dying does that, he supposes. Maybe this is his second chance. Water laps at the window—the thrum of the ocean’s heart, constant, calming. He looks up at the window, another memory quietly slipping into place in his mind. 

He remembers the music, and his heart feels fuller.

The end


End file.
